Poetry: 1 Poem by Robert Okaji
Hunger is Hunger
Somewhere we jumped the tracks,
he said, wiping himself clean with my
blouse. But this life’s all you got.
Yeah, I said. Maybe. Look here.
His mouth dropped open
when I split his skull, a dark
moon on a darker night,
white stumps reflected
in the window. The axe
wouldn’t pry free, so I left it
planted there with the good book
and soiled prayers, pants still
bunched around his ankles,
acknowledgement that not
all sin weighs the same. I have
found the season and gathered
my stones. I have acknowledged
purpose and time. I refrain no more.